


64. Middle of the Night Homecoming

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [64]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for verbal humiliation, rough sex and blood</p>
    </blockquote>





	64. Middle of the Night Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for verbal humiliation, rough sex and blood

Antony had texted Stephen to let him know his flight was delayed but even then he hadn't expected to be this late.

The taxi pulling up in front of the building, he pays the driver, grabs his overnight bag and heads for the front door, swiping his fob over the pad to be let inside. The overnight concierge gets a nod and luckily the man recognizes Antony so he can head right back to their private elevator, his thumb pressed against the keypad here. He's exhausted, but as always there's that tension coiling tighter and tighter, and although he's mindful of the fact Stephen might have to work this morning, there's little to no chance he's going to be able to make himself behave.

In the foyer, he drops his bag, figuring he'll deal with it later, and heads straight for the bedroom.

Stephen had given up and headed to bed around 1 am, his day had been long, the last push before finishing for hiatus in a little over a week. He's used to this waiting now, the countdown before his lover, his Sir, comes home. So after a hot shower, a change to fresh bedding he manages to scan just one page of his script before falling fast asleep.

The light's still on, Stephen passed out, sprawled on his back with a script still in his lap. Christ. He looks so fucking good. Antony undresses quietly, palming his throbbing erection as he watches his boy sleep, his clothes tossed in the hamper. He pads softly across the hardwood and rug and eases the script out from under Stephen's fingers, lube pulled from the bedside table and used to slick his cock. Stephen doesn't stir and that should be a sign to Antony just how tired his boy is, but fuck, he's been waiting for this, dreaming about it, _aching_ for it, and besides, Stephen's said how much he loves it when he gets like this...

Antony crawls onto the bed and prowls up Stephen's body like some huge fucking cat, his head lowered to his boy's throat, breathing in his scent. "Turn over," he growls softly.

It takes some doing, but when he finally comes to, it's with a start, Stephen's hands come up to push against the body looming over him, several things registering at once: the heat, the naked, lean and muscular body, the smell. Antony. His eyes snap open. "Sir," his voice sleep rough, thick, but there's so much in that word, need, passion, lust...adoration.

"Boy." Antony brushes their lips together then gives the order again. "Turn over."

 _Boy..._ That simple word does wicked things to Stephen, his skin goosebumps, his breath hitches and his pupils blow, all precursors to his slipping into head space - and this man can do all that with one word.

Stephen turns, hips lifting, arms pressed to the bed as he settles his cheek against his forearm. His body is vibrating with need, with the nearness of his lover, his Sir.

Antony starts to work Stephen's pajama bottoms down over his hips but when it becomes clear that's going to take _way_ too long, he simply kneels back and tears them open, exposing Stephen's ass.

That move, the evidence of Antony's raging need, makes Stephen groan, his hips come up, his body begging for everything his Sir is promising. "Please...please Sir...."

Breathing hard, Antony takes his cock in hand and lines up, the blunt head rubbed over Stephen's tight hole, teasing them both, before he pushes in, popping through the first tight ring of muscle.

Fingers tighten up into fists, and Stephen bites down on his forearm, no prep, no additional lube, no warning... clearly Sir is in a mood to use his fuck toy, not pleasure his boy. Bearing down he growls against his own skin, willing his body to open and take that huge cock.

"That's it. Open up for me, boy," Antony growls, pushing deeper, forcing his way in, the tight heat making his head swim, his cock pulse.

"M'trying..." The words come out a whine, and if they were in scene, rather than bed, Stephen might expect to be reprimanded for his tone. His frustration however isn't aimed at his Sir, but himself, his body for not doing what he wants it to do quickly enough.

"I know you are," Antony acknowledges but it doesn't stop him from pushing harder, from sinking his cock into Stephen's tight hole inch-by-painstakingly won inch. Something deep and dark inside him wanting _exactly_ this.

"Oh fuck... it hurts... fuck..." Stephen scrabbles at the bedding beneath him, a moment of instinctive panic, sure that he's going to tear, that his Sir is going to fuck him bloody.

Stephen's pain only spurs Antony's arousal and once he's buried himself in his boy, he pulls back and drives in again. Showing no mercy.

Stephen's cry of pain is muffled by his pillow, but even as his body lights up with the exquisite agony of his ass tearing, his hips lift for more. _Use me... abuse your boy... fuck me..._ And he finds himself craving the sound of his Sir's voice spitting vile humiliation in his ear.

"That's it," Antony murmurs, fucking his cock into Stephen's hole harder and faster the more his boy's body gives. "You get that cunt up there."

His ass stuffed full, his body taking it all, Stephen cries out with each punch of his Sir's body. He loves this, loves being used as his Sir's fuck hole, nothing more than a means to an end for his owner. Stephen revels in the recent knowledge that only _he_ can give his Sir the what he needs when he returns like this - the means to unwind fully and completely.

Antony pounds into Stephen, holding nothing back. Takes every ounce of tension and stress and drives it into his boy, into his cunt, bracing his hands above the headboard for leverage. Hips snapping, cock glistening with lube and blood, Stephen's cries only fueling the fire, he slams into him. "This is what you were made for," he growls. "Fucking pig cunt, made for me, made for my cock..."

Any reply Stephen would make in the affirmative is lost. Face screwed up in beautiful pain he arches back, his ass meeting Antony's hips, his cock, whilst limp is weeping precum on the bedding beneath him. A sure sign he's way under, drowning in subspace, in pain and need and the wicked words of his Sir.

He's done this before, fucked Stephen to bleeding, but his boy asked for it that time. Begged for it. This time he's taken it upon himself to do it, to unleash this brutality on his boy, _his_ property. And maybe he should stop, slow down, show some mercy, but it feels too fucking good, and he's in too fucking deep, the tight wet heat of his boy's body shoving everything else aside... He comes with a roar, hips pumping, cock spurting hot and thick, _everything_ poured into his boy, his cunt.

Stephen screams at that last thrust, his whole being consumed by the sweet agony of his body being ripped, and then bliss as his vision narrows, the knowledge his Sir has reached his pleasure, using him as the tool to gain it. Slick with sweat, his body trembling hard, Stephen pants into the pillow - barely conscious, nowhere near coherent.

"Good boy," Antony breathes, panting softly, easing out but not away as he drapes himself over Stephen's back and presses his mouth to the nape of his neck. "My good boy." He swallows hard, his throat gone dry, his mind calmed, soothed, his body purged. "I love you so much."

Stephen's floating, it's only the weight of his lover's body that tethers him to the present. Heart still thumping hard, breath erratic he half turns his head, making a choked noise to show he's heard.

"Don't move. I'm going to clean you up," Antony says, slowly moving down Stephen's back, his hands on his boy's body, keeping that connection. Spreading Stephen's cheeks, he takes a good look at what he's done, leaning in to lick away the blood.

Stephen skin cools as it's exposed to the air, but it's not that that makes him shudder, it's the play of his Sir's tongue over hypersensitive, raw flesh. He grunts, fingers closing on the pillow, his hips shifting as if to pull away.

But Antony shifts with him, licking over that battered flesh, his tongue laving the wounds, cleaning the blood and come from the puckered skin before pushing in.

Swallowing hard, Stephen struggles to form the word he needs, but he shapes his mouth around it and manages to hiss out "No..." It's too much, his body already too hyped, each touch is like sharp electricity to damaged skin and it's unsettling the place his head's at, morphing it into something unknown and not entirely pleasant.

Antony lifts his head and blows out a breath, weighing that no and what he knows of his boy. "I'll grab a cloth and towel," he says finally, pressing a kiss to Stephen's lower back before disappearing into their bathroom.

Slumping, able to relax, Stephen closes his eyes. The endorphin wash is wearing off, his ass and hips ache from the pounding he just took, but all he can think about, the only thing at the forefront of his mind is that Antony is home, and he's home safe.

Antony grabs the promised washcloth and towel, returning to Stephen as quickly as he can. He settles on the side of the bed and gently cleans what's left from Stephen's ass and skin with the warm cloth before patting him dry. He's brought some ointment as well and dabs a bit into place before finally giving himself a few quick wipes and stretching out beside his lover, arm wrapped around his waist.

Shifting so he can roll into Antony's side, his face pressed against hair dusted skin that smells of sex and sweat. When he's feeling more coordinated he'll push off his ruined pj pants, but for now he lies there, still lost in the fuzziness of headspace, his Sir's arms around him.

"I missed you," Antony murmurs, kissing the top of Stephen's head. It was a rough job, his attentions divided between it and the crap with their ex-clients at home. Luckily Dhimitër had once more proved their brilliance in hiring him, not only holding down the fort here while Marcus had his back but retrieving Stephen's phone and getting their ex-clients' local contact to seriously reconsider the effect of his continued cooperation on his future health. "Even more than usual."

"I missed you too," Stephen tilts his head up to look at his lover. Antony looks exhausted, shadows around his eyes that Stephen's not seen before. "Are you okay? Did everyone come home safe?" He pushes up onto one elbow to look down at Antony, his fingers seeking out the tags around his lover’s neck.

Antony nods. "Everyone's home. It was just one of those jobs. But we got in, got it done, got paid." He smiles, laying his hand over Stephen's. "Landed ourselves a huge bonus."

Stephen's brow dance at that. "Huge huh?" he smiles. "Enough to take your lover home to meet your family?" he asks softly.

"That sounds more like a punishment than a reward, but yeah, we could do that," Antony says, smiling back. And maybe getting the hell away from L.A. is exactly what he needs while Dhimitër and Marcus take care of their little problem. Plausible deniability. "You want me to book tickets? Tell them we're coming?"

"I have just over a week left at work," Stephen leans in to rub his lips against Antony's skin. "Then I'm done for three whole wonderful months, with just a few cons and interviews to do, so let's not rush, but yes, sooner rather than later I want to meet your family, I want them to know me."

"What about your family? Are we dropping in on them too?"

"Of course," Stephen presses a kiss to Antony's chest and settles back down. "But mine are much closer, it'll be easier to arrange."

"We'll have to deal with the paps more," Antony points out. "Although not as much as here." He sighs. "I'll be relegated to being your bodyguard," he says with a grin.

"I'm caring less and less what those fuckers think." Stephen pushes away to roll onto his back and shove the ripped pj's off, he tosses them on the floor beside the bed and rolls back into the warmth of his lover's body.

Which is easy enough for Stephen to say, but fuck, his career... Antony pulls him in close. "What time are you working tomorrow? Today, I mean."

"I need to be in for 8," Stephen glances at the clock, it's nearly 3 am already. He half shrugs and nestles in, not seeming to care.

"You want me to take you in?" Antony offers. "I don't have anything scheduled."

"Don't you need to catch up with some sleep?" It's not like he doesn't want his lover nearby, but he wants to see those dark smudges gone from beneath Antony's eyes. "You look worn out."

Antony laughs. "That bad, eh?" he teases.

"'Fraid so," Stephen agrees smiling, wincing as he shifts to tug covers up over them. "Please stay home, take care of yourself, you can come to set with me tomorrow." He presses another kiss to Antony's skin.

"You're going to be okay?" Antony asks, needing to make sure.

"Yeah I'll be fine, so long as I don't need a shit," he laughs, biting at Antony's shoulder, "Seriously, I'll be fine, just leave my ass alone tomorrow."

"Okay. I promise," Antony says, crossing his heart, his eyes crinkling as he kisses Stephen. "I'm glad I'm home," he whispers, settling in, his eyes closed, the warmth of his lover's body right where he wants it.

"Me too." And despite the aches in his body, Stephen slides off to sleep, content that his lover is home, safe.


End file.
